Scorpio's Lot

by Ray Smithies

  On a lighter note, a tribute to Lewis Carroll enthralled the youngsters with a superb rendition of the Mad Hatter’s tea party, complete with the portrayal of the deck of cards from the much-loved children’s story Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The Queen of Hearts was decisively adventurous as she rained kisses on anyone that moved. Hundreds of streamers and balloons were now being released above the procession and crowd as the exhibits slowly passed our vantage point.

  An excellent presentation depicting human statues in superbly detailed likeness and dress attire received an enthusiastic applause as it passed by the appreciative onlookers. Reminiscent of Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, it included Mahatma Gandhi, Charlie Chaplin, Ayrton Senna, Jimmy Hendrix and Marilyn Monroe.

  Confetti continued to fall and dance on a light breeze that carried the abundance of circular particles in a hundred directions. In an eye-catching display of horticultural excellence, a floral float amassed with many hundreds of flowers lay host to the Pedley Parade Princess. She sat upon her throne of purple, green and gold waving to the passing spectators. Amidst further exhibits, hoards of individuals in fancy dress danced and sang their way down the colourful and vibrant Pitt Street. Mother Nature had taken kindly to the passing parade, for a cloudless blue sky in late winter was the perfect tonic to reward this enthusiastic crowd. Without exception, the parade today was living up to its usual high standard.

  ~ * ~

  So as not to attract any undue attention, Victor Marlow, Brad Morgan and Charlie had parted company upon arriving in Pedley, knowing the police would be lying in wait to observe any unusual behaviour. Operating alone, Marlow knew his objective would be less conspicuous. Knowing only two other people could identify his regional head, he decided to contact Neville Bradbury via mobile to commence his preliminaries.

  ‘Neville, have you located the whereabouts of the Piedpiper?’

  ‘Yes, sir, between Covert and Williams on Pitt Street.’

  ‘Dressed in what clothing?’

  ‘I can just make out a long brown coat, but no hat,’ responded Bradbury.

  ‘Good, and where’s everyone else?’

  ‘Charlie, Mick, Sol and Morgan are all presently on Pitt Street, but at separate locations as instructed.’

  ‘Okay. I’m currently between Green and Williams, walking in a southerly direction. Without being obvious, keep focused on me and the Piedpiper in case something unexpected happens. Warn me if something doesn’t seem right,’ ordered the Keeper.

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Marlow, aided by a pair of RadioShack binoculars secured to a cord dangling freely in front, and wearing dark sunglasses, continued to walk up Pitt Street, drawing closer to his subordinate’s position. He suddenly felt a vibration coming from his mobile phone.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Morgan, sir. I recognise two syndicate members from Traffik.’

  ‘Shit! Their location?’

  ‘On Pitt between Covert and Williams.’

  ‘Christ almighty, that’s the very block I’m to carry out the transfer! Who are these two, Morgan?’

  ‘Klaus Schmitt and Dean Templeton.’

  ‘I know these bloody idiots, but it’s been some time since I’ve laid eyes on the pair. Hopefully I can still recognise them. Give Neville a description and their location.’

  ‘They’re presently together and both dressed in dark-blue or violet tracksuits. One of them’s carrying a stuffed toy he must’ve won at a shooting gallery this morning,’ said Morgan, who was still quietly pissed off with his superior for never divulging the identity of the Piedpiper. Still, he might be privileged one day if they ever decided to take him into their confidence.

  ‘What sort of stuffed toy?’ the Keeper enquired.

  ‘From this distance it appears to be a giraffe.’

  ~ * ~

  Burke looked down on the masses from his window vantage point on the fourth storey of the corner TGE Insurance building. With binoculars and two-way communication, he could pinpoint an individual at one hundred metres. Through the lens of his field glasses he cast an eye on males who appeared to exceed fifty years. Which one? thought the sergeant, peering down at the likely candidates. What would the supreme leader of a major drug syndicate look like?

  A man on the other side of the street was in conversation with a middle-aged woman. They seemed to be a married couple, which made them an unlikely possibility. Three men in the next block appeared to be sharing a joke and enjoying the splendor of the procession. They appeared relaxed and were oblivious to spectators in their immediate surrounds. The body language alone indicated these men were not about to contemplate some forthcoming document transfer. Another unlikely possibility. A man in the same block had just purchased fairy floss and was passing the stick to a young girl of around seven years. Probably her grandfather, he thought. Again, an unlikely candidate.

  Burke continued to span the crowd with his binoculars. Momentarily pausing from searching amongst this fifty-plus lot, he was amused to read a caption outside a shop that sold compasses. Very clever, he thought, reading the slogan with its double meaning: BUY ONE OR GET LOST.

  His persistence from the window ledge was rewarded with a further five candidates, but with each observation came disappointment. None of these individuals fulfilled the required criteria. He observed more people and it was all becoming a bit frustrating. Had this candidate been over eighty years the field would narrow considerably.

  And then two likely possibilities, speaking on their mobiles, came into view. Burke decided to contact Detective Forbes.

  ‘There are simply too many individuals to observe at any one time,’ he told the detective, ‘but two likely candidates are walking south along Pitt Street between Green and Williams. As I speak they’re both using their mobile phones. From your position I suggest it’s worth taking a closer look.’

  ‘Very good, sergeant. Just continue to feed me with likely suspects and we’ll do the rest from down here,’ instructed Forbes, who wondered for a moment whether the Piedpiper would be accompanied by his so-called lover.

  ~ * ~

  I could see that Emily and Martha were enjoying the parade immensely. It had been some time since Em had worn such a broad smile and this happy occasion was proving to be the best medicine. The troubles of the past three weeks were temporarily put on hold. Many more floats and bands continued to file past, each receiving an enthusiastic response from the appreciative crowd. The skies were still full of confetti, streamers and balloons and I was beginning to wonder if there was no end to this constant spillage of descending paper. Heaven help the street cleaner come tomorrow morning, I thought.

  A huge reception greeted the second-prize float depicting a tribute to L Frank Baum’s immortal classic The Wizard of Oz. It was a massive presentation featuring the yellow brick road en route to the Emerald City. Amidst an enchanted forest emerged the characters of Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. Children jeered at the Wicked Witch as she sat on a broomstick casting her spells. The full length of the float incorporated an elevated rainbow to complete the impressive exhibit.

  Amongst the colour and energy of the parade, a bizarre incident was about to occur. I was observing the Walt Disney spectacle when unexpectedly the sight of a fiend from hell momentarily held me motionless. Were my eyes deceiving me? For a minute or two Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs obstructed my view, then this person suddenly reappeared on the other side of the road. The impeccably dressed man returned my stare and our eyes met for a moment.

  There was no mistaking this individual. This was the assassin from the Molly Bloom, and for that matter, the very same who had threatened us at home. I felt a chill run up my spine, for this person reeked evil in just sheer presence alone. I called on Emily and Martha to verify my sighting.

  ‘Do you recognise the man opposite, dressed in a blue-and-maroon chequered coat?’

  ‘Where, Tom?’ enquired Martha. ‘I can’t see anyone dressed that way
.’

  ‘Why the sudden interest in someone wearing a chequered coat?’ asked a puzzled Emily.

  ‘Because he’s the same person who threatened us in our home.’

  ‘But Tom, how do you expect Martha or me to identify this person when he wore a balaclava,’ said Emily, glancing across the road.

  ‘Sorry, forgot about that. I must be mistaken,’ I responded to lessen the impact. Needing an excuse to depart, I added, ‘You two go on watching the procession. I need to find a toilet.’

  With the assassin having disappeared from view, I retreated to the back of the crowd and placed a phone call, rather than alarm the women with my persistence. After all, they were here to enjoy the carnival and not participate in some manhunt.

  ‘Darren, it’s Tom Harrison. There’s a man dressed in a blue-and-maroon chequered coat currently on Pitt Street between Covert and Williams. He’s the same person responsible for the murders aboard the Molly Bloom. I recall his face before he slipped on the balaclava. I suggest you inform Forbes immediately and I’ll see if I can find him again. The guy has since moved, having seen me talk to Emily and Martha.’

  ‘Which side of the street, Tom?’ asked Darren.

  ‘West side.’

  ‘I’ll alert Forbes immediately.’

  ~ * ~

  Having diverted further down Pitt Street and shaken off the stares and obvious recognition coming from Tom Harrison, Morgan again took up position amongst the crowd observing the passing procession. The temporary setback on being identified was of no great concern to him. He had discarded his coat in a rubbish bin and now blended inconspicuously into the crowd. In his mind the priority and responsibility was to inform his superior of any potential trouble leading up to the exchange.

  He saw that Klaus Schmitt and Dean Templeton from the rival organisation Traffik continued to remain in close proximity and, ironically, in the vicinity of the forthcoming exchange. Frustration continued to irritate him in not knowing the identity of the Piedpiper. In this one block alone there would be at least two thousand people.

  Having passed Sol and Charlie, who were maintaining surveillance from the preceding corner, Victor Marlow had progressed considerably on foot and was now within striking distance of the rendezvous point. Up ahead he could see Bradbury and Mick standing apart, but more important was the presence of the Piedpiper some ten metres further on. The crowd continued to cheer at every conceivable thing that moved in the parade. Attention, it would seem, was solely directed toward the procession.

  Marlow continued to weave his way though the masses en route to the Piedpiper. Within five metres of the transfer he recognised the familiar figures of Schmitt and Templeton standing close by. In fear of the exchange being noticed by the rival syndicate, he decided to continue walking, for this was no time to take unnecessary chances. The transfer would now have to be attempted a second time, but in doing so the two Traffik members would need to be disposed of. At an acceptable distance pass the rendezvous he decided to phone Bradbury.

  ‘Neville, the exchange never eventuated with those two Traffik pricks so bloody close! Arrange with Mick to have them taken to the farm and bring them to the underground tonight when all this carnival hype has finished. I believe my identity is still intact because neither Schmitt nor Templeton reacted suspiciously.’

  ~ * ~

  ‘Gallagher and Doyle, please respond!’ called Forbes.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ replied the detectives simultaneously.

  ‘Burke advises that the guy responsible for the Molly Bloom massacre has just been seen walking along Pitt Street not far from the Covert intersection. Since you’re both on that side, would you commence your surveillance within a two-block radius for a person wearing a blue-and-maroon chequered coat. Keep me posted on your progress.’

  The detectives immediately approached two uniformed police walking their beat along Pitt Street, instructing them to assist with the search. A careful examination of the area resulted in someone locating a coat rolled up in a rubbish bin fitting the description. It was immediately retrieved for possible DNA evidence. With little knowledge of the assassin’s physical attributions, they knew their task was now near impossible.

  Ironically, Morgan had the gall to stand nearby and smile inwardly at seeing the confusion the discarded coat had brought upon the constabulary.

  Doyle contemplated for a moment. One possibility remained and that was to relieve Burke and Martino from their respective posts and have them relocated to ground level to assist with the pursuit. After all, these two did lay eyes on Brad Morgan during the boat catastrophe. Would Forbes agree to this suggestion and allow the elevated sites to become unmanned?

  ‘Boss, unfortunately this person has given us the slip. I can only suggest that Burke and Martino assist us with identification.’

  ‘What, and leave the aerial vantage points unattended?’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘No way, and besides, this criminal has probably long since gone.’

  ‘But -’

  ‘What I will offer instead is for Marsh to join you, since this Henry Lloyd or Brad character he encountered at the Esplanade Hotel may be the same person,’ added Forbes, overriding his subordinate’s deliberation.

  ‘Very well, but the sooner the better.’

  ‘He’ll be sent immediately. I’ll have to cut you short as there’s an incoming call... yes, constable?’

  ‘Sir, I’m observing some strange behaviour between Williams and Covert,’ Martino said. ‘I’ve had my binoculars focused on two men, who appear totally disinterested in watching the parade. That strikes me as odd since their attention is directed at studying the spectators and not on the procession.’

  ‘Describe the pair.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting either of these could be the Keeper, as they both appear to be in their late thirties. One’s around six foot and the other’s about five-eight.’

  ‘Any further details?’

  ‘They’re both average build and dressed in dark-blue, sort of violet-coloured tracksuits. One of them’s holding a giraffe toy.’

  ‘Good work, Martino. I’ll send someone over to check this out.’

  ~ * ~

  I noticed Paul Marsh a short distance to my left and decided to inform him of my sighting of the Molly Bloom assassin. He was in discussion with three people but I knew this matter was too important to ignore. Apologising for my interruption, I quickly briefed him.

  He nodded in acknowledgement and introduced me to a stunning honey-blond called Piochsa and two young men bearing the names of Hassan and Danny Murdock. The introductions were suddenly cut with Marsh answering his superior’s call.

  ‘Yes, understood. I’ll be over immediately,’ responded the detective. ‘Tom, that was Forbes informing-me about the very same matter.’

  ‘As a result of my call to Burke.’

  ‘Must go now, for duty calls,’ he said.

  Following Paul’s hasty retreat, the four of us blended into the camouflage of the crowded spectators. If it hadn’t been for Emily observing me from a short distance away, a chat with the gorgeous Piochsa wouldn’t have gone astray.

  Momentarily alone again, my eyes were focused on the audience opposite Pitt Street. Where in the hell was that bastard? Surely some conspicuous and ridiculous-looking coat wouldn’t be too difficult to find. I could see two uniformed officers pacing the opposite block, but there was no sign of Forbes going about his business. I could visualise this bombastic individual directing his workforce from the comfort of some Eagles Nest watchtower, complete with a personal waiter and concierge. How I had come to loathe the man following his behaviour and insinuations on that somewhat taxing day.

  To achieve an uninterrupted view from across Pitt Street was to become a near impossible feat, since the focus upon any one individual was constantly hindered by the passing cavalcade of floats and musical bands. That arrogant assassin was proving difficult to find. My concentration was distracted by a short greeting
bellowed out by James Slattery. Accompanied by his newfound friend Kurt Muller, who surprisingly could manage a return smile, the two appeared to be enjoying the festivities as they progressed south along Pitt Street. Looking further afield, I noticed the sombre characters of Stephen Buchanan and Ben Johnson. Emily and Martha were standing nearby, thoroughly engrossed in the carnival parade.